without a plan
by traversing
Summary: it's very often that the doctor goes without a plan. fixit fic for gitf.


**A/N; a sort of au gitf, because i can't stand moffat!doctor. unedited, ten/rose**

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The Doctor had never considered himself to be much of a planner, instead accepting, even embracing, his impulsive nature. In fact, quick thinking got him, and his companions, out of trouble rather than meticulous planning, which almost always ended with something going wrong (after all, the universe can't let him be happy for long, can it?). But perhaps if he'd planned it, straight from the beginning, he wouldn't be in the mess he was now, stranded in 18th century France in an uptight community that he found rather uncomfortable.

Looking back on it, there were multiple routes he could've taken that would have led to the clockwork drones to be dismantled; driving the TARDIS through the window would have had the same effect, while time may have been an issue (just how much time had he had?), he wouldn't have had to leave Rose behind.

_Rose._

The name struck a cord, and the Doctor knew he had failed her. The day - the day before! - he'd told her she wouldn't be left, he refused to both himself, and to her, that he wouldn't treat her like just an assistant that he didn't have feelings for. And then he up and crashed a horse through a time window, doing just as he said he wouldn't. Oh, the smack he'd get when he figured out how to get back to her, he could just feel the sting that would linger on his cheek for days. Of course, that wouldn't be nearly as painful as seeing the hurt expression in her eyes, whether or not she was angry with him.

"Doctor." He wheeled around, stream of thoughts dammed in light of Reinette coming to (presumably) fetch him for a stuffy dinner.

The Doctor sighed, and motioned for her to continue.

Her hair was piled high on her head, curled pieces perfectly arranged, giving her, along with her dress, an air of royalty. "A blue box appeared in the gardens, and unless I am mistaken, it's much like the one you often speak of."

The Doctor's ears perked up the moment the first words were uttered. "Was there, were there any people around?"

"It looked as if it crashed, my Lord. There wasn't a soul near it, though, other than the guards and groundskeeper." Reinette said, hesitantly, then held out her arm. "I can help you find it, if you wish."

"Oh," he paused, studied her proffered guide, and bolted. While the Doctor tried not to be rude to his gracious host, he knew the way and taking Madame's arm would most definitely slow him down. Several thoughts raced through his head as he ran hastily down multiple flights of stairs -Rassilion, how many did they really need?- across a parlor and out the large glass doors that led to the gardens.

He could hear Reinette panting behind him, and although she did a brilliant job keeping up, her pace slowed as they hit the winding path. The Doctor actually sprinted even faster, as he spotted a small group of people gathered around - was that, it was! the TARDIS, it was actually there, but where was Rose and -

Breaking through the sparse crowd wasn't any sort of struggle, and he was inside the ship before anyone could think to stop him. The door gave way easily, and while he was worried, it wasn't broken, nor was there any sign of extreme trauma. He took a tentative step inside, bracing himself for anything but the silence that welcomed him.

"Didn't take ya too long."

His eyes floated to the source, a voice so brilliantly familiar that he knew (it was in fact the inflection that the Doctor took to when he was born again), and oh, it was fantastic when he saw her standing at the console, he couldn't stop rushing to her and wrapping his arms around her frame and oh how relieving it was to just hold her.

Lifting her off the ground, he swung his Rose around and around, the feeling of being with her again overjoyed him and the smile that grew onto his face must have been so wide -

His happiness, though, was sapped when he didn't feel her reciprocation; her arms were stagnant, limply hanging by her side. When he pulled back, the Doctor saw the way that her lips were set in a small frown, and he was sure his own expression fell.

Ignoring all the voices in his head that told him to apologize, he looked about the console room, and asked the question that had only just crossed his mind. "How'd you even get here?"

Rose laughed, an unfortunately hollow sound that didn't even come close to doing justice for her usual chime he loved. "What do you think? Barely flew the TARDIS, an' I was afraid we'd arrived too early." She paused, now hesitant. "How long's it been?"

"Rose, you did marvelously. Been here a few days." The Doctor grinned, hoping to ease her obvious pain. "Where's Mr. Mickey?"

Rose gestured to one of the hallways. "Went to take a nap, didn't want to deal with the French tarts - sorry."

The Doctor chuckled, and tried again to pull her into a hug. This time she obliged, albeit with a heavy sigh, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his chest.

"'missed you," Rose breathed. "I waited awhile, and then we couldn't just wait forever."

The Doctor gripped her tighter, pressed his lips to her hair, murmuring, "I'm so, so sorry."

He wasn't sure how long they stood there, wrapped in each others' arms, her softly crying at both the pain she felt because of him and the joy of being together again, and him whispering apologies for everything he'd done wrong. But later, when Mickey found them sitting on the jumpseat, Rose practically in the Doctor's lap, asleep, with himself heading that way, Mickey muttered something about how stupid they both were. And maybe he was right.


End file.
